Lead Me Home
by MacyMarleyxo
Summary: After the prison - their safe place - is destroyed by The Governor - Beth Greene and Daryl Dixon are forced together to survive. But, just as they are beginning to form an understanding with, and of, each other, someone kidnaps Beth, leaving Daryl alone again. Where is the youngest Greene sister? Daryl Dixon will do everything in his power to find the woman who has become the light
1. Chapter 1

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she trampled through the long grass, beating it down under her worn cowboy boots. She wanted to yell at him to wait, to stop stubbornly barreling forward deeper into the fields without her, but something in her pride wouldn't allow the words to come out. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Beth continued on, bounding after Daryl like a lost puppy. Occasionally, over the height of the tall strands in the field, she lost sight of his mop of dark hair momentarily and felt a panic claw at her throat. It wasn't that she felt she wouldn't survive by herself, it was more that she didn't want to, and if the only person to be her companion was a surly, angry redneck who hadn't spoken a decipherable word to her in almost forty eight hours, then so be it.

Eventually, she elbowed her pride out of the way, and called out. 'Daryl, wait up.'

For a few paces, he stubbornly continued. Beth gritted her teeth in annoyance, but relented as she saw him stop. Daryl didn't turn to see if she needed anything or was safe; he just stood still, resembling a scarecrow in the overgrown field, and waited for her to catch up. Out of pettiness, Beth wanted to pretend she was hurt or something sinister had happened. All she wanted from him was a reaction, but any emotions he had previously had died after watching the prison fall.

The prison. She missed the place already, with its high fence and secure walls. Not secure enough though that The Governor couldn't take it away from them. Beth cast her mind back to four days ago. Life was as good as it had been since the world had changed. They had a system at the prison, a close knit group who Beth looked upon as her family. Things had begun to look up; the new people from Woodbury had fit right in, sharing the workload of tending to crops that Rick had planted, learning to shoot and offering to go out on scavenging runs to find supplies. Beth had allowed herself a little more hope for each day that passed. Her cell, which acted as a bedroom, was decorated with various things she had found out on runs and left behind in the prison; signs, brightly coloured stickers, poems that she had written and torn from the pages of her diary, and a sign that she had found in one of the other cell blocks - a chart with flippable numbers to indicate how many days had passed without an incident. Mentally, Beth flipped the numbers back to zero.

'C'mon,' Daryl growled. He reminded Beth of a feral animal.

'We need to find a place to stop. I'm tired of running,' she told him.

She noticed, as he looked at her, that he couldn't disguise the contempt in his features for her. His thoughts were etched, plain as day, onto his features: _Why am I lumbered with this useless girl?_

A burst of anger flashed through her. On one hand, she could understand his frustrations. Unlike the other females in the group, she knew she was one of the weakest. Sure, she could thrust a blade into the head of a walker, but she wasn't a survivor. She got by on hope and faith that things wouldn't always be this bad. But he didn't need to make it so obvious that he found her to be an absolute hindrance. Drawing herself up to her full height, she peered over the top of the grass, searching for any place where they might spend the night. When she found nothing, without a word to Daryl, she shoved past him and continued forward.

The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon as they walked, slower now and lethargic from a combination of mild dehydration and lack of sleep. The Georgia heat was still oppressive, beating down and making their journey even more miserable. Beth's vest was soaked with sweat, her skin shimmered with the perspiration. She wondered if her journey would have been more pleasant if she could actually talk to Daryl as they traveled. She couldn't understand why he had put his guard back up around himself. If anything, she should be the one crumbling into pieces, and sobbing with heartache and sorrow. An image of her father entered her head, his sweet old face, with the mere ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She shoved it away, not wanting to remember what had happened to him, fearing she would break down if she did. There wasn't time for hysterics. Like her father had always said 'Everybody has a job to do' and this was hers. She would prove to Daryl that she was a worthwhile companion, she would prove that she was equal to her sister Maggie, to Carol who had emerged into such a strong woman, and to fearless Michonne. She would show him that she was worthy in her own way.

It was twilight when they reached the road, and low storm clouds rumbled ominously overhead. Beth and Daryl crashed through low bushes, bursting onto the tarmac and attracting the attention of two stray walkers. Beth fumbled for the knife attached to her belt, closing her hand around the hilt and drawing the thin blade out of the sheath. Daryl signaled to her to take the left one and he lined up his crossbow to sink a bolt into the head of the one on the right. Wordlessly, they dispatched the walkers, checking one last time that they were completely dead before wandering further along the road. With the overhang of trees, the road seemed darker and more threatening. Thunder rolled through the clouds, right above, a booming noise that Beth worried would draw more walkers. A shadowy mass at the side of the road morphed into the shape of an abandoned car; door ripped from it's hinges and a corpse sprawled on the floor beside it. She glanced at Daryl who was poised and ready with his crossbow. He half nodded at her and she slid into the drivers seat and surprisingly, found the keys dangling from the ignition. With a silent prayer, she turned it. Silence. Disappointed, she climbed out, unsure of their next move, but Daryl was one step ahead of her. The trunk was dented and open. He pulled it open fully and indicated silently that she should get in. She complied, squeezing herself into the small space. Daryl followed, pulling the trunk down behind him and securing it tightly with a scarf.

Beth allowed herself a small sigh of relief. It wasn't perfect, and it was very cramped but it was safe and would provide a much needed shelter for the night. She wanted to say something to Daryl but was unsure how to approach him. He was tense, his crossbow positioned between the gap where the trunk was too broken to close fully, ready to fire off a bolt at any moment. She opened her mouth to say something to him, anything to break the unbearable, uncomfortable atmosphere, but hostility came off of him in waves, so instead she closed her mouth and fidgeted to find a position that would be comfortable for the next several hours.

Eventually, the storm erupted. Torrents of rain battered the car, beating a steady rhythm on the trunk. Beth used to find the rain comforting; when she lived at the farmhouse, she would open the windows during a storm and breathe deeply, inhaling the wonderful scents that came with it. She tried to hang onto that feeling now. Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating the road with each bright flash. Beth could see the walkers outside, shambling slowly past the car unaware of hers or Daryl's presence. One noise could change that; the tiniest sneeze of cough, or a movement that was too rapid could bring them all on top of their shelter, clawing and snapping their teeth as they groaned and tried to break their way in. Beside her, Daryl hadn't moved - still poised to shoot, crossbow crooked and one eye scrunched shut as he looked down the sight.

The moments dragged by, seeming slower as time went on. Still neither of them spoke. Beth, alone with her thoughts, began to think back to the prison. She was certain that everyone else had made it out safely. She had to believe that to keep herself going. They had been a strong group, even more driven when The Governor had threatened their place of safety. She swallowed, blinking back tears that she wouldn't allow to fall, as she thought of the possibility of never seeing Maggie again. Raw with grief over her father, she drew her knees up to her chest, hugging herself into the smallest ball that her body could make. She wouldn't cry. She had learned that crying got her nowhere. Plus, it would further fuel Daryl's assumptions that she was weak and useless.

Outside, the rain slowed and the storm calmed. The sky began to lighten and Beth watched through the narrow crack as the dark hues lifted, giving way to a hazy morning. She blinked, checking for signs of walker activity outside the car before scrabbling at the tight knot that Daryl had made with the scarf. The trunk opened silently. On aching legs that had cramped from being curled up all night, Beth shakily clambered out of the trunk space. Daryl followed, giving the surroundings a quick sweep before slinging his crossbow over his back to investigate the debris surrounding the car. Beth picked out some things that they might find useful; a piece of broken glass, the wing mirror with lay uselessly in the road, and some old plastic bottles for collecting water. She stuffed them into a plastic bag which she found on the backseat. Daryl's haul consisted of some string and the hubcaps from off of the wheels. He slung the black plastic sack over his shoulder, and with a final, silent glance at her - the contempt still obvious - he sauntered off along the road. Beth watched him in disbelief, shaking her head at his surly demeanor, which was quickly becoming very tedious, and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

After stumbling upon a small clearing in the woods, Daryl sloped off into the trees in search of something to eat. Beth wondered if he would be back; after all, he gave the impression that he would fare better by himself without feeling like he needed to babysit her. She set her mouth into a thin, angry line and rummaged in the black sack that he had dumped onto the forest floor. Deftly, she threaded the string through the hubcaps and tied each end to a tree. Giving it a swift shake, she smiled triumphantly at the clanging noise which would alert them to any walkers or other dangers. _See, Daryl Dixon,_ she thought, _that will show you I'm not as useless as you think._

Ignoring the growing unease that he might not return, Beth set to her next task - building a fire. She used the wing mirror and the broken glass to catch the sun, gently blowing on the small logs that she had nestled into the hole in the dirt, as they began to smoke. She was reminded of her childhood, when she and her brother Shawn would play out under the trees by the barn. Some days they'd pretend they were on an adventure, lost in the woods with only their basic skills for survival. And now here she was years later, only it was no longer a game and her playmate wasn't interested in playing - he wasn't interested in doing anything.

Daryl returned a few moments later, shredding the skin from a snake as he came towards her. Her stomach flipped from relief. Despite his hostility, she was glad that she wasn't alone. Besides, if they were together now then he'd have to learn to live with her. His eyes glanced down to the fire and then back up to her. Beth thought she saw a flicker of approval on his face but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. He crouched beside the fire, cooking the snake over it. When it was charred, he wordlessly handed her half to her. She picked at the meat, breaking of small flakes and popping them into her mouth. It was revolting and tough, but it was food and she knew they both needing it. From under her eyelashes, she glanced up to watch Daryl. He was tearing into the snake meat with his teeth, ripping at the flesh and gobbling it down. He turned to look at her, caught her eye and flustered, Beth looked away quickly, embarrassed at being caught.

'What?' he asked, his mouth full.

'Nothing. I…I need a drink,' she replied, sounding bolder than she felt.

Daryl eyed her for a few seconds longer than she was comfortable with, then dropped his gaze back to his snake. Without acknowledging her again, he tossed a plastic bottle filled with rainwater at her. Beth floundered, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water before finding the words.

'I mean a real drink,' she said. Adding, in case he was unclear on her meaning, 'Like…alcohol.'

Daryl didn't even look up. It was as if she hadn't even spoken.

'I've never tasted it before,' she offered. 'My Daddy wouldn't allow it.'

She paused, giving Daryl a chance to respond to her. He didn't show even a flicker of interest. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks. She had never been so blatantly ignored before and it stung. Considering the time she had spent with Daryl before the fall of the prison, she felt that he could at least have pretended to be interested. She was tired of his silence, of the way he was treating her. It wasn't her fault that things had ended up this way and she wasn't going to take the blame any longer.

Rinsing the vile taste of snake meat from her mouth with the water, she got to her feet and angrily snatched her knife up from where it sat embedded into a log.

'You can stay here then, I'm going to get a drink,' she announced.

As she strode past him, she allowed herself to give him a sideways glance. He really didn't care. Beth felt deflated. She wished she was here with Maggie or Glenn, even Carl would have made a better companion than this ignorant, bitter man that she had been paired with. Angrily, she pushed through low hanging branches, the twigs scratching gently against her cheek as she moved through the woods. Her frustrations led her onward, unsure of where she was actually going or what she would do when she got there, but she wanted to put some distance between her and Daryl. With a small gasp, she stopped. A few feet in front of her were several walkers heading in her direction. She swallowed hard, clearing her mind of the annoyance she felt so that she could think and pressed herself against a tree, shrinking herself into the smallest position. She glanced around the thick trunk and noted that they were still shuffling along clumsily towards her. She bent silently, closing her small hands around a reasonably sized rock, and threw it at a tree to a few feet to her left. At the sudden noise, the walkers turned and changed direction, shambling away from her hiding place. She could hear their rasping breaths rattling from decaying rib cages and even at this distance, she could still smell them; a festering, cloying smell that was thick in your nostrils and stayed there even hours later.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing albeit not enough to remove her hand from hovering over her knife. She had learned that you always had to be prepared; always needed to be quick and not give a second thought because it could cost your life. She peeled herself away from the tree and noticed something move out of the corner of her eye. Her gasp tore loudly from her throat, heart leaping into her mouth as the stray walker lunged at her. Her knife was unsheathed in an instant. With all her strength, she shoved the corpse away from her, mindful of it's snapping teeth that were aiming at her arm. Grimacing, she pushed it against the tree where she had previously stood and in one fluid movement, drove the blade of her knife into it's head. At once, the noises from the walker stopped. It fell silent, crumpling to the floor in a heavy heap. Beth wiped the blade on her jeans as she caught her breath. She startled as the bushes parted behind her and whirled to face Daryl. She wondered how long he had been standing there, and hoped that he had witnessed her taking care of herself.

'C'mon,' he grunted.

Pleased that he had finally seen sense and obviously wanted to move out from their camp in the woods, she followed him. As she almost tripped over the hubcap fence she had made, she looked up and him in dismay and an angry noise escaped from her mouth.

'I told you,' she bit out, defiantly. 'I'm not staying here. Why'd you bring me back?'

Furiously, she raised her middle finger at him. It was a petty response and something she had never done to anyone before, but it felt good to let him know how she felt. He grabbed her wrist, bringing her arm back down and yanked her towards him into the camp. She stood her ground, rigidly, digging her heels into the dirt and not moving.

'Hey,' he said, sharply. 'You've had your fun.'

'What is wrong with you?' Beth fired back. 'Do you feel anything? Yeah, you think everything is screwed, I guess that's a feeling.'

Daryl's mouth was set into a hard, irritated line.

'So, you want to spent the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that,' she continued, her blue eyes blazing with the heat of her fury. 'We might as well do something!'

She didn't know what exactly, but the longer she stayed in one place and allowed herself to think of what they had lost, the sooner she would drive herself insane. Surviving was the only thing they would do for now. They were on their own, an unlikely duo forced together, but Beth knew that they could make it. Maybe somewhere they would find another group to join. Maybe they would even find their family, but they weren't going to do that sitting on damp leaves and eating snake meat. Something in Daryl's face softened for a moment and she knew she had won.

'I can take care of myself,' she informed him. 'And I'm gonna get a damn drink.'

She turned, pretending to not care if he followed but sincerely hoping that he did. They had lost everyone else for now, she didn't want to lose him too. As she made her way through the woods, she was aware of his presence behind her. Twigs cracked under his heavy boots and she could hear the branches swiping against his leather vest. She gave a small smile and pushed her way out of the woods. Emerging onto a golf course, she turned to Daryl and waited for him to catch up. An overturned golf buggy lay uselessly on its side, the contents of the golf caddies that had once been on it were strewn over the grass. In the distance, Beth could see the clubhouse. A possible place of safety and shelter, and more importantly; a drink. If she was going to die today or any time soon, she was going to do it after having her first taste of alcohol. The determination fueled her to keep going. This little mission gave her something to do; a job. It kept her busy and her mind occupied. Once she had completed this task, she would set herself another. This is how she would survive; taking each day at a time and setting herself a goal to complete.

'Golfers like to drink, right?' She asked Daryl.

The weariness on his face told her that he didn't know or care. Screw him, he didn't have the ability to know why this was so important to her and even if she explained it to him, she could bet that he never would. Several feet behind them, four walkers emerged from the trees, stumbling towards them.

'Come on,' she commanded, heading towards the building.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl spoke to her willingly for the first time in days as they approached the weather beaten clubhouse. Albeit it was just to instruct her but Beth was pleased with the interaction all the same. The main doors were secured from the other side somehow.

'We'll check around the side,' Daryl told her gruffly.

Through a series of silent nods, they made their way around the side of the building, checking over their shoulders for the walkers that had come from the woods. They were catching up now; Beth could hear them rasping and moaning as they gained on her and Daryl. He found an old golf club and picked it up, weighing it in his hands as if to decide on whether it would make a good enough weapon. Slowly he pulled on the door handles. The door swung open easily.

There was something eerie about the club house. Beth wasn't sure whether it was the murky darkness inside the building or the deafening silence in a place which was once so full of life. She decided it was a combination of both. Daryl closed the doors behind them, leaning his weight against the wood to ensure they were secured before sliding the golf club through the handles.

The smell of death was overpowering in the small room. Beth gagged, forcing the bile back down her throat. She picked her way across the room in the dim light, crunching debris under the heel of her boot. Three walkers hung from the ceiling, thrashing and clawing. Beth swallowed hard. She could sympathize with the despair that they must have felt when they were alive; thinking that ending their lives was one way to avoid how the world had turned out. She thought back to Rick's admission about how everyone was infected and wondered if that would have made a difference to the decisions these people had made about taking their own lives.

She scouted the room, checking for any bottles of alcohol that she could pick up and complete her mission. There was nothing left; just empty packets and bottles, the remains of people and makeshift beds. On a table, she found a silver spoon etched with a picture of the White House and the words 'The Capitol - Washington D.C'. She pocketed it, unsure why, and turned to find Daryl on his knees scrabbling among personal belongings, stuffing money and jewelery into a leather backpack.

'Why are you taking that stuff?' She asked, puzzled.

He shrugged and continued to stuff the bag until they were disturbed by a rattling sound. Walkers outside pushed against the double doors, bending the golf club to a point that Beth was sure would snap.

'Go,' Daryl ordered, shoving her roughly in front of him and through some doors which led deeper into the building.

They found themselves in a kitchen, old food and empty packaging strewn around the counters and littering the floor. Beth drew her knife as she crunched across the floor, sending broken glass skittering under metal shelves. She was unsure of what she was looking for apart from alcohol, yet she wandered into walk in refrigerators and peered into each cupboard. Finally, she spotted her prize; a dusty old bottle on the top shelf. She reached up to get it, fumbling clumsily with her fingers in an attempt to bring it closer to her. She over reached, upsetting the balance of the shelf, and for a moment the bottle seemed to hang in mid air before crashing to the floor. Beth studied it in disbelief for a moment, her stomach sinking in disappointment.

From out of nowhere, drawn to the noise, a male walker lunged at her, pinning her to the wall. She stared into it's lifeless eyes and the cavern of it's mouth as she squirmed and twisted, shoving it away from her. With a grunt of exertion, she stabbed it, crying out through her gritted teeth from the effort. The blade missed the desired spot and she arced the weapon through the air, this time connecting it with the skull and drove it home. The walker stilled, and as Beth pulled out her knife, it slumped to the floor. She wiped her brow and turned to find Daryl watching her.

'Thanks for the help,' she snapped, sarcastically.

He shrugged, his face nonchalant. 'You said you could take care of yourself. You did.'

For a brief moment, Beth thought she heard a hint of pride in his voice. Together, they continued through the rooms, descending down a narrow staircase which led to a darkened corridor. A glass display cabinet had been pushed, or knocked over, onto the opposite wall creating a barricade in the middle of the room. Gingerly, the pair crawled underneath the opening that was left, cautious of the broken glass spread across the floor which glinted in the light of the torch Daryl shone in front of them. Beth noticed an old grandfather clock, with the words Tempus Fugit engraved on the face. The clock was still ticking, a steady rhythm that felt almost comforting. The corridor opened up into a large room filled with golfing paraphernalia, clubs, ball and - the thing that made Beth smile - new clothes.

'It must have been the store,' she grinned excitedly to Daryl.

He shrugged in return, surveying the room with his crossbow raised. Beth ran her hands over a yellow t-shirt, admiring the soft and clean feel to it, and pulled it from the hanger. She held it against herself deciding it would fit and - taking cover behind a rack of clothes - slipped her dirt encrusted vest up and over her head, replacing it with the new garment. She looked around for Daryl, spotting him perched on one of the counters looking at a sight in front of him. As she got closer she saw what it was and revulsion rose in her throat, escaping from her lips in the form of a strangled gasp. Somebody had cruelly attached the torso of what used to be a woman to the lower half of one of the store mannequins. Attached to her breast was a sign, the words 'Rich Bitch' scrawled in a childish hand.

'Help…help me take her down,' Beth managed to say. She gave the torso a gentle tug but it was stuck firm. 'Daryl?'

He didn't move, just continued to sit and watch her. 'Don't matter, she's dead.'

Beth bit her tongue, preventing the angry and disappointed tirade that she wanted to yell at him. It did matter. Someone had taken this woman's death and made it more undignified than it already had been.

'It does matter,' she stressed. 'Help me.'

After a few silent beats, Daryl rose, rummaging behind the counter for a sheet. He carefully draped it over the corpse's head. 'There.'

Beth nodded her thanks. From the corridor came a loud chime from the clock. Two dull bongs reverberated through the otherwise quiet building. Beth winced, knowing that sound would alert walkers. She was right; from the room to the left they came spilling into the store, shambling and groaning, arms outstretched with claw-like hands grasping for them.

'Go!' Daryl ordered, pushing her forward.

With a panicked cry, Beth fled into the next room. It was light and wide, with lockers lining the walls. At the other end was an open doorway, a gaping void of darkness beyond it. She headed towards it and stopped when she realised Daryl had paused in the middle of the room. Horrified, she opened her mouth to tell him to hurry as the walkers filed into the space. The words caught in her throat and she stood uselessly as he fired a bolt into the head of the first walker, and smashed his heavy crossbow into the one behind. She could feel the rage radiating from him as he angrily scooped up a golf club and swung it through the air, slicing through it with a loud whooshing sound as he smacked it against the third walker's skull. He hit it with such force that the end broke off, embedding the sharp point into the brain.

'Daryl!' Beth cried, unsure of whether to help him or not.

Another came through the door, mouth open. With his face contorted in rage, Daryl snatched the knife from his belt and drove it hard into the eye socket. Beads of sweat flew from his reddening skin, his breath coming in hard gasps. Without pausing for a second, his hand reached for another golf club as an elderly walker stumbled through the door. Instead of going for the head, Daryl whacked the club across it's chest repeatedly. The hard thud of the weapon against it's bones made Beth wince. She looked on, concerned as Daryl continued to bludgeon the walker until it fell to the floor. Still it rasped and reached for him, and still he smashed the golf club down again and again, raining furious blows. Beth knew this was his way of letting out some of the anger he felt. She stayed back, hovering in the doorway not wanting to intrude on this moment that he so obviously needed. And then, sweating and panting and red in the face, he swung the club at the head detaching half of the face which sailed through the air, spraying blood and bone matter, which landed with a soft noise on the front of Beth's clean shirt. Had the situation been different, she would have laughed, but the look on Daryl's face as he stood back made her press her mouth together. She said nothing, instead indicated with her head towards the door. He pushed his long hair from his face and followed.


	4. Chapter 4

'We made it,' Beth grinned, turning to face Daryl.

He wore his usual uncomfortable expression and hoisted his crossbow up in way of response.

Beth looked around the room in awe. It would have once been the bar and recreation room but now it was disheveled; tables overturned, broken chairs, the bar was littered with tiny fragments of broken glass and behind it were the bodies of two people. Beth carefully stepped over them, bending down to peer behind the bar for a bottle of something alcoholic. Triumphantly, she pulled out the only bottle which was left. It was half full of clear liquid. She ran a finger over the label to clear the dust which had settled and held it up.

'Peach Schnapps, is this good?'

'No,' Daryl replied simply.

He was back to being sullen after his angry outburst. Beth let him get on with it, taking a seat at the bar and searching around for a vessel to drink from. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Daryl; he was rummaging through left over bags and stuffing yet more things into the leather backpack. She wondered how he was feeling but didn't have the words, or courage, to ask him. He wasn't the sort of person who was forward with their feelings or any sort of information regarding themselves. No one even knew what he did before the turn. Beth thought he might have been a mechanic or some other kind of manual labourer. He was built for the job; wide shoulders, muscular biceps, and beneath the layer or dirt and grime that covered them all, he had a tan like someone would get from working outside all day. She didn't even know how old he was. If she thought about it, she wasn't entirely sure how old she was herself. She was certain that she was eighteen, and she put Daryl at maybe slightly younger than Rick. She continued observing him; from somewhere he had found some darts and was violently throwing them at photos of who she assumed was the chairman and board members of the golf club. Something about him made her feel safe and, despite the fact that he wouldn't even so much as look at her, she knew that she could rely on him to protect her.

'You had your drink yet?'

Daryl's voice startled her back to the present. She shook her head and went back to rummaging around the bar for a cup or glass. Everything was coated in blood or a thick layer of filth. Beth picked up an old napkin and scrubbed at the inside of a cup to no avail. Who needs a glass anyway, she though, unscrewing the cap slowly.

Darts thunked against the wall, accompanied by the sound of low grunts of exertion as Daryl threw them. All of a sudden, Beth was hit by an overwhelming wave of sadness. The feelings that she had fought to keep at bay all day were rising, bubbling to the top and threatening to spill over. She swallowed, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes. Her task was over; she'd found the bottle of alcohol that she wanted to badly and now she felt deflated. The purpose to the day was finished and suddenly she felt lost, unsure of what to do any more and unsure of what would come next. Images of Maggie and her father swam before her eyes. What if she really would never see her sister again? She had lost so much already. Her sweet father, whom she loved so dearly was gone forever. She thought of him kneeling before The Governor, accepting of his fate as if he knew what was going to happen to him. The memory played in slow motion; the katana raised high in the air before swinging with such force against Herschel's neck, Rick's outcry of 'No!' and the burst of action that had followed. She hadn't even gotten to say goodbye, never told him how she loved him and was proud of him for one last time. And this, this was why she needed a purpose in each day, so that these thoughts would not come boiling over and cripple her. It would kill her if she let it and she knew in herself that she had grown into a stronger woman than that. She needed to hold onto her hope and faith because only this allowed her to believe that somewhere, there was still good in the world. It may have been naive and made her appear weak, others may have mocked her for it but she clung on because it was what got her through.

Tears squeezed from her eyes and, angry and disappointed with herself, she tried to stop them which only resulted in a loud sob escaping from her lips. The darts stopped thudding against the wall and she was aware that Daryl was watching her, his face softened from the permanent scowl he had been wearing. He stood awkwardly, his arms hanging limply at his side, and Beth could almost hear his mind churning, wondering if he should try to find some sort of words of comfort. In two steps he had closed the gap between them and lifted the bottle from her hands. He smashed it on the floor, obliterating the glass and raining shards down to mix with the other debris scattered on the grimy carpet.

'Your first drink ain't gonna be no damn peach Schnapps,' he offered by way of explanation. 'Let's go.'

He opened the door which led outside and waited for her to hop down off of the barstool instead of stomping off like he had been doing previously. Beth dried her eyes, wiping the tear stains from her face and took a deep breath. She reprimanded herself for allowing her emotions to take control of her. Reminding herself that she didn't have time to cry, she forced a smile onto her pale face and stepped out into the sun.


	5. Chapter 5

Beth trailed through the woods after Daryl. He had promised her that he was taking her to what would be a 'real drink'. Unsure what to expect, she eagerly trotted behind him, pleased that she hadn't entirely finished her mission and that the day still had some point left to it.

Ahead, Daryl parted the bushes and held them back as she stepped through the parted branches. Her heart sank in disappointment at what he was nodding towards. A ramshackle cabin, that was really nothing more than a shack with its broken windows and weathered wood. The paint peeled from the siding in large flakes giving it a depressing feel. Beside the wooden structure was a makeshift shed. Daryl strode towards it and opened the door on rusted hinges, turning back to give her a satisfied look.

'I wasn't expecting a place like this,' Beth admitted. She wondered where the alcohol was. Wasn't that why he had brought her here?

'Found it with Michonne on a run. I knew exactly what it was when I saw it. My Dad had a place like this.'

Beth was surprised at this information he was offering more than his decision to talk to her again. He had changed his demeanor since they left the golf club; he wasn't exactly friendly and open but some of his harshness had worn away, leaving Beth feeling more comfortable in his presence. He had even humoured her on the walk here, answering her guesses about what he had done before the turn. It was something at least, and that was all she asked for.

Daryl heaved a crate from the shed and handed it to her. She wasn't expecting the weight of it and stumbled, cursing under her breath.

'What…what is this?' she asked, peering down into the crate. There were several lidded jars which were half full of clear liquid.

'Moonshine,' Daryl answered.

He led her into the shack, indicating a space to set down the crate. Beth studied their new shelter. Wallpaper had come unstuck along the ceiling, hanging down in strips. The floor was soiled with torn newspaper and cigarette butts. Dishes piled in the sink, encrusted with dust and grime, and old food. Whoever had lived here had taken no pride in their surroundings. The contrast between the expensive, plush country club house back at the golf course and this squalid hut was stark. As Beth cleared away from of the debris to side of the room, making their shelter a little more comfortable, Daryl found a hammer and secured some boards against the window. Beth smiled as she worked, pleased with their attempt at team work. Outside, leaves crunched under footsteps. Daryl, immediately on alert, peered out of the window. A lone walker roamed gormlessly outside, shuffling slowly along.

'Should w take care of that?' Beth inquired.

'Leave him. If he starts makin' too much too much noise, then we will.'

Beth pulled back a chair from the shabby table and lowered herself into it. Blowing the dust from a glass, Daryl filled it with a small amount of the moonshine and set it down in front of her.

'That's a real first drink,' he told her sounding almost proud. He leaned back against the counter and watched her. When she hesitated he asked 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' she replied slowly. 'Just my Dad always said the bad moonshine could make you go blind.'

'The world is uglier than it was before, why'd you wanna see that anyway? Nothin' worth seein' out there,' Daryl snorted.

'Well,' she started. 'Here goes.'

Beth took a large gulp of the liquid and swallowed. She wanted to gag, the taste was revolting and burned her throat and all the way down into her stomach. She pulled a disgusted face and Daryl chuckled, a sound she hadn't heard in what felt like months. She drained the glass and held it out in front of her, encouraging him to pour another.

'You oughta slow down,' he warned.

'This one's for you.'

'Nah,' he shook his head. 'Someone needs to keep watch.'

She rolled her eyes playfully. 'Oh come on, I don't need a chaperone. Take it,' she held the glass out to him, nodding her encouragement.

Daryl studied her and the glass for a moment before the corner of his mouth tugged into the beginnings of a smile. He took the glass from her with a terse 'Okay' and settled himself down in the threadbare armchair. Beth knelt down next to his chair, arranging herself into a comfortable position on a crocheted blanket that smelled of stale tobacco and a strange, sour scent. She poured herself another drink, and feeling bolder from the one she had just had, turned to Daryl.

'You said your Dad had a place like this?' She sipped her drink slowly, looking up at Daryl from underneath long eyelashes.

He nodded. 'Yeah, home sweet home,' he replied, wryly. He drained the liquid in his glass in one motion and held it out for a refill. Beth complied.

'He had a chair like this. He'd sit in it all summer long and get piss drunk. He had a bucket next to him that he'd spit his chaw into. It's how I knew what this place was when we found it,' he looked away, seemingly embarrassed at having offered so much information about his life before lapsing back into silence.

Beth was reluctant to let him slip back into his earlier gruff behaviour and tried another tact to keep their growing bond going. 'We should…play a game,' she suggested brightly.

'A game?' Daryl looked dubious.

'Yeah, did you ever play 'I Never'? My friends used to play it, I'd watch. So first I say something I've never done and if you have done it, you drink, and if you haven't, I drink. Then we switch, got it?'

He shrugged his usual non committal shrug and make a noise of confusion. 'I ain't never needed a game to get lit before. What's the point in it?'

'The point is,' Beth explained, exasperated. 'Is that we have nothing better to do and we have all this moonshine and a shelter for the night, so we might as well make the best of it.'

She waited for him to shoot her idea down again, failing to comprehend how someone could get by in life by being so negative all the time. She wasn't expecting him to break into song or turn cartwheels but a little enthusiasm that they were alive and surviving would go a long way to add to the morale she was trying to keep up.

'I'll go first,' she continued, drawing him into the game whether he liked it or not. 'I've never…shot a crossbow.'

He looked at her, puzzled. She fought the urge to sigh. She nodded at him, smiling, the way you would to encourage a child to do something. 'So now, you drink.'

Daryl frowned. 'Ain't much of a game,' he told her, but regardless he downed his drink and refilled the glass. A thrill went through Beth. She seemed to be finally getting through to him.

'It was a warm up,' she half laughed. 'Now it's your turn. You can say anything. The first thing that comes into your head, it doesn't matter what it is.'

Daryl furrowed his brow and spent so long thinking that Beth had a worrisome moment that he might withdraw back into himself again, or that her enthusiasm may be more annoying than infectious.

'I've never been out of Georiga,' he said eventually.

'Good one,' she praised, raising the glass to her lips and tipping back the moonshine. She was becoming used to the familiar burn as it went down and for some reason, it no longer tasted as revolting as it first did. She began to feel more relaxed; warm and happy and slightly giggly. She hadn't imagined being drunk to feel like this - it felt quite nice.

'Okay, my turn again. I've never,' she thought about the next one for a few seconds before finishing with 'Been drunk and did something I regretted.'

With a wry smile, Daryl drained his glass. 'I done a lot of shit,' was all he offered as an explanation. 'I've never been on vacation.'

Something about this saddened Beth but she tried to not let it show in her face. Daryl had gotten to the age he was at now without experiencing a vacation; the thought was depressing. Their upbringings were miles apart. Beth with her loving family, happily living on the farm, attending church and Sunday lunches around the big scrubbed wooden table in their warm kitchen. And then there was Daryl; this shack that they were holed up in was his life, something which was normal to him, a racist and quite frankly, revolving older brother, and a father that spent his summers spitting chaw into a bucket.

Beth wondered 'Not even camping?' Her family had always treating camping like a vacation. She still remembered the excitement of hammering tent pegs into the ground and running off into the woods with Maggie and Shawn to return with armfuls of logs for the fire.

'It was just something I had to learn. To hunt,' Daryl shrugged.

'Did your Dad teach you?' Beth pressed, eager to know more about his life.

Daryl made a noise of agreement but offered nothing more than a gruff 'Your turn.'

'I've never been to jail before,' she said, the words out before she could think about what she was saying. She gave an embarrassed laugh to cover it up, make it seem less serious but Daryl's eyes had already darkened.

'Is that what you think of me?' his voice was low with an edge to it.

Beth tired to make light of her question. She forced a smile onto her face and brightly said 'Not anything serious. I mean, just the drunk tank. Even my Dad went there before.' Another embarrassed giggle.

'I need to take a piss,' Daryl grunted, heaving himself up. He strode loudly to the back of the room, boots echoing a loud thud, and tossed the glass he was holding onto the floor as he unzipped his pants.

'You need to be quiet,' Beth urged. The lone walker that was still outside growled.

'I can't hear you, I'm taking a piss,' he announced loudly.

Beth cringed at the sound of him urinating loudly against the all. It was the most uncomfortable situation she had even been in.

'Daryl,' she hissed. 'You can't talk so loud.'

He angrily zipped his zipper and turned to face her, his mouth twisted into a snarl. 'You my chaperone now? Oh it's my turn again ain't it?'

His voice was rising and with it his tone grew nastier as he bit the words out, directing them at her like a weapon with every intention of hurting her.

'I've never had a frozen yoghurt. Never had a pet pony!' he mocked, spitefully.

Beth swallowed, willing him to shut up but failing to find to courage to tell him so. She kept silent, allowing him to continue his angry tirade at her. Maybe it was her own fault for being so hopeful that surviving with him could actually work. Daryl Dixon was not the type to believe there was still good in the world or pass the time playing drinking games.

'Never got nothing from Santa Claus. Never relied on anyone for protection before - Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything.'

'Daryl…' Beth tried, but he ignored her, continuing his rant towards her privileged life that she had previously led. She could kick herself for asking about jail. It wasn't that she really thought he had ever been there on a serious charge. Maybe for drinking or even fighting, but she knew that he wasn't a criminal. She didn't know why she thought that but she just felt it in her gut, that although he was a surly, arrogant redneck; he wasn't a mean person.

'Never sung out in front of a big group out in public like everything was fun, like everything was a big game,' Daryl ranted. His face was twisted with anger and revulsion as he made a slicing motion across his wrists. 'I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention.'

He finished, kicking over something which landed with a crash on the opposite wall. The walker outside banged against the door.

'Looks like he's calling for his friends,' Daryl snarled.

Beth didn't even have time to react or feel anything other than stung about his last statement before he strode across the room and yanked her up by her wrist. His tight grip burned and Beth found herself jostled along by his angry pace. She squirmed and tried to break free but it hurt even more so she allowed herself to be dragged outside.

'We should stay inside,' she protested to deaf ears.

'You never shot a crossbow? Well, nows your chance. Come on Greene, this'll be fun,' Daryl fired off an arrow in the direction of the walker who was now ambling towards them, but a combination of being drunk and overwhelming anger caused him to miss. He made an angry noise in the back of his throat and forced Beth in front of him, clamping her against his chest with his forearm around her neck. She was winded and coughed, shoving him away. He released her momentarily to reload the weapon, only to grab her and resume his hold her her again, bringing the crossbow up and almost shaking her as he positioned it in front of her face.

'Just kill it!' she yelled, as he fired off another arrow, this one pinning it to the tree.

'C'mon,' he panted. 'Let's pull these out and get a little more target practice. You havin' fun yet?'

He released her to pull out the arrows. Furious, Beth yanked out her knife and ran over to the walker, stabbing it in the head and putting it out of its misery.

Daryl rounded on her, his face red. She had never seen anyone so angry before. 'Why'd you do that? We were having fun!'

'It's not meant to be fun,' she shouted at him. 'Imagine if that was my Dad and-'

'It's not even remotely the same,' Daryl snapped.

'What do you want from me, girl?' he hollered. He was in her face, shouting into it, his face a red, angry mask of hatred and fury. As he spoke, spit flickered from his mouth and across her face. She wrinkled her nose.

'I want you to stop pretending that none of what has happened doesn't matter to you. Like, all the people we lost meant nothing to you. It's bullshit!' she was fueled by the moonshine. She had never dared to speak like this to anyone before, but the anger that had accumulated over the last few days, the pain from losing everyone and watching her father die was coming to a head.

'That what you think?'

'It's what I know.'

'You know nothin'!' Daryl spat.

'I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl. I'm not Michonne, I'm not Maggie, I'm not Carol but…I survived you don't get it because I'm not like them…or you. I made it and you don't get to treat me like crap because you're afraid!' Beth threw the words at him, her tone passionate. It was true. She knew she was considered one of the weaker ones, the girl who sang to keep people's spirits up, the one who looked after Judith because she wasn't good at fighting, or shooting, or going on runs or any other survival skills. But she knew she had contributed in other ways and she was tired of that being overlooked, tired of people thinking she was a burden that just needed babysitting and protecting. She was strong in other ways, she didn't need to be physically strong.

'I ain't afraid of nothin.'

Beth knew this was a lie. Everything he was doing and saying came out of fear; fear that they wouldn't survive, fear that everyone was lost or even worse, dead.

'I remember,' she told him. 'When that little girl came out of the barn? You were just like me and now God forbid you let anyone get too close.'

'Too close huh?' Daryl's face was inches from her own. 'Too close, huh? You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear. Your whole family's gone, all you can do is just go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch!'

'Screw you,' she retorted, hurt. 'You don't get it.'

'No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead! He jabbed an angry finger into her face.

'You don't know that!' Beth protested. His lack of hope was such a downer.

'Might as well be, 'cause you ain't never gonna see 'em again. Rick…You ain't never gonna see Maggie again,' he seemed to be calming down. His shoulders had drooped and the angry expression that had been etched onto this face was relenting. She knew the realisation of what he had just said had hit him.

'Daryl, just stop,' she held a hand out to soothe him but he twisted away from it, turning his back to her.

'No! The Governor rolled right up to our gates. Maybe if I wouldn't have stopped looking. Maybe 'cause I gave up. That's on me,' his voice cracked and broke as his shoulders slumped. It was the most heartbreaking sound in the world.

'Daryl…' she started, wanting to reassure him that it wasn't his fault at all. It was nobody's fault apart from The Governors.

'No…' he stopped her again. 'And your Dad…' his voice cracked again, this time allowing the tears to come spilling out. 'Maybe - maybe I could have done something.'

Beth did the only thing she knew was reasonable in the situation. She flew at him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and pulling him as close against her as she could. Silently, she stood there with her head rested against him as he cried out all of his anger and pain.


	6. Chapter 6

They didn't speak again about Daryl's breakdown. Instead, Beth gave him some space and stayed quiet, finding a ragged newspaper to look through as he sat in the chair beside her. The silence had changed from an awkward, unbearable one that was taut with tension to comfortable and companionable. She didn't feel the need to fill the silence like she had previously, knowing that the tension between them had now diffused. Beth was glad that Daryl had let his emotions out. If anything it made him feel better rather than burdening himself with them.

Eventually the air grew cooler and the sun began to set. It was almost fully dark, the type of murky dark that lurks around for a little while before finally giving over and allowing the real night to set in. Beth though of the half dark like an annoying sibling; still vying for the final bit of attention before it's more appreciated sibling arrived. Her mind wandered to Maggie and she wondered, if she was alive, what she was doing and who she was with. She hoped she had made it out with Glenn. She felt the sadness begin to creep in, and wanted to avoid spoiling the calmer atmosphere. Standing up, she brushed her hands against her jeans.

'We should sit outside on the porch,' she suggested.

To her surprise, Daryl agreed. It was cooler outside, the sky was clear and a blanket of stars decorated the inky blackness. The moon was out; full and proud, illuminating the tree tops with it's milky glow. The pair settled on the porch, clinking their jars of moonshine together softly in a toast to being alive. If it wasn't for the bloody, soiled clothes they were wearing, and the fact that they were still on high alert for walkers, it could have been like any other normal night, drinking out in the summer air with a friend. Beth knew that's what Daryl had become, in some unspoken bond after she had stood hugging him as he sobbed, he had gone from protector, babysitter and just a companion to her friend.

'I get why my Dad stopped drinking,' she smiled as she sipped.

'You feel sick? I hate puke.'

'I just wish I could feel like this all the time you know? Calm, and warm. I feel relaxed for the first time since the prison. That's bad isn't it?'

'Hmm. You're lucky you're a happy drunk.'

'Yeah, I mean, some people can be real jerks when they're drunk,' she nudged him playfully with the toe of her boot, smiling to let him know she didn't mean it.

He gave a half chuckle. 'I can be a real dick when I'm drunk. Merle had this dealer, this janky little white guy. One day when we were over there, Merle started talking shit about some show on tv. Merle had this thing where he never let up, no matter how annoyed the other person was getting or even when he knew he was gonna get his ass kicked.'

He paused, remembering, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

'Anyway, the guy gets real mad and punches Merle in the face. Turns out the show was his kid's favourite and he didn't get to see his kid…or some dumb shit. So I punched him, and he pulled a gun and everyone is yelling…it's just chaos. I thought 'this is it, you're gonna die…''

'How'd you get out of it?' Beth realised she was leaning forward in eagerness over the ending of his story.

'The guy punched me in the guy. I puked and they both started laughing and forgot about it.'

Beth laughed. 'Guess you were lucky.'

Daryl shrugged. 'You wanna know what I was before all this? I was nothing. I was nobody. I just followed Merle around all day, the big asshole redneck and his little brother just drifting around.'

'You miss him don't you?' Beth asked. 'I miss Maggie. And Shawn.' She felt tears started and let out a nervous laugh to stop them. 'And my Dad.'

She sipped her drink before continuing. The hole in her heart from losing him ached. 'I always thought he'd have a peaceful life, you know? I know people never wanted this for any of their loved ones, but my Dad…I just though he'd live the rest of his life happy. Glenn and Maggie would have a baby and he'd be Grandpa and do all the stuff with the baby like he did with us as kids. And we'd have holidays and birthdays together, we'd go on picnics. I mean, I knew it would happen but I thought he would go at a very old age; peacefully and happy surrounded by everyone he loved. That's how unbelievably stupid I am,' her voice cracked. She took a gulp of the moonshine.

'It's how it was meant to be,' Daryl said, softly.

'I wish I could just change…'

'You did,' he reassures her. 'From the farm, to now…'

'Not enough. Not like you. You're strong and you can deal with how things are. It's like you were made for how the world is now.'

'It's what I'm used to Beth, I'm used to things being ugly and broken. I've never known any different.'

She felt a stab of pain for him, for the way his life was and then she shook it away. He had come so far too. He could be proud to be nothing like his brother. And now, he had a family who cared for him and loved him. He was accepted and not alone. Beth thought that was something he liked the most, not that he would ever admit it.

'Well, you got away from it,' she said.

'I didn't.'

'Yes, Daryl,' she said levelly. 'You did.'

'Maybe you gotta keep reminding me some time.'

'No. You can't depend on anyone for anything, remember? I'll be gone someday. You're gonna be the last man standing. You are.'

'Stop,' he mumbled, trying to cut her off.

She looked at him, face half lit in the moonlight, his shaggy and unkempt hair falling over his cheekbones and she knew she was right. He was strong and he had changed so much today; he had allowed himself to feel.

'You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.'

He paused from jabbing his knife into a wooden beam to glance up at her. 'You're not a happy drunk at all.'

'I am. I'm just not blind.'

'We should go inside,' he said, standing up. 'Come on.'

He extended a hand down to help her up but she didn't take it. She had a better idea that involved not going back inside that depressing shack.

'We should burn it down,' she told him, steadily. She laughed at the absurdity of her idea.

Daryl blanched, looking at her like she'd lost her mind. For a few silent beats, she expected him to tell her absolutely not and then his face softened.

'We're gonna need more booze.'

Beth giggled, taking his still outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to his feet. Gathering up all the remaining alcohol, they splashed it furiously around inside the shack, laughing like children. They exhausted the entire supply of moonshine, coating the walls and ceiling until everything was sodden and the stench of alcohol fumes invaded their nostrils and burned their throats with its thick scent.

Scurrying outside, Daryl dug into the leather backpack for a wad of money that he had taken from the country club.

He held it up, handing a matchbook to her. 'You wanna?'

'Hell yeah,' she grinned at him, striking the match. It lit with a satisfying 'whoosh' and she held it to the money until it caught. Daryl tossed it, and immediately the shack lit up. The heat from the flames warmed their faces as they stood and watched in glee, the fire licking up the wooden beams and connecting with the alcohol to ignite the entire structure.

Beth beamed as she watched it burn. The sadness and upset melted away from her and as she watched Daryl's body visibly relax, she knew this was his catharsis - watching his past burn away in front of him - and she was overjoyed that she was part of it. She raised her middle finger in a defiant salute to the burning building, and nudged Daryl in a silly encouragement to do the same. He complied, and they stood in unison, fingers raised as the shack became engulfed in the fire.

'Come on,' Daryl prompted, spotting some walkers moving through the trees to find the source of the noise.

With a final glance at the shack, Beth started through the woods and into the dark. She knew from now on she didn't need a purpose to get through each day, and she knew that she would no longer have to encounter sour, surly Daryl again. As she turned to make sure her friend was following her, she noticed the smile on his lips. It was a genuine smile and she turned back to allow him to have his private moment.


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl rapped on the window with the butt of his crossbow, holding his hand up to Beth to signal her to remain silent. After a few moments when no walkers lunged at him and the inside of the derelict store remained unmoved, he nodded.

'We can go in.'

Beth, tired and hungry, pushed opened the door. The air was stale and musty, and made her eyes water. She drew the collar of her t-shirt up and clamped it over her mouth, not wanting to breathe the stench in. Daryl moved quietly through the building, crossbow cocked and ready and Beth scouted the shelves. There wasn't much left, there never was anymore, but she stuffed the remaining cans of old beans and fruit into the backpack.

'We should stay here a night,' she said wearily.

'Nah,' Daryl collected some empty water bottles as he spoke. 'We need to keep movin', find a safer place.'

Inwardly, Beth groaned. They had been on the move for at least three days, surviving on rain water and whatever creatures the found in the woods; mainly snake and squirrel. Beth's eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. Each night they had slept out under the stars, on the hard ground but the weather was beginning to turn and the air had a chill to it. Neither of them had any other plan apart from to keep moving. Every place they had been to was overrun or not secure enough, either with windows or doors missing or broken. Even with Daryl's hunting skills, they both knew that they wouldn't survive much longer if they didn't find somewhere to hole up in soon. Today was the first day they had emerged from the woods, searching for more food to add to their diet, and blankets or anything that would keep them warmer at night.

'Nothing left,' she said, holding up the backpack. 'Just what I stuffed in here.'

He nodded, leading her back out to the road. Opposite were a row of houses, all empty. Some had boarded up windows and others had none at all.

'We'll check these,' Daryl told her.

The first and second were empty and Beth was beginning to feel fraught with tension as they crept into the third house until Daryl gave a low whistle.

'What?'

'Looks like someone left this behind,' he indicated with his head towards a small pile of canned foods. A film of dust was thick across the top and with a gentle motion, he wiped it away with his finger.

Beth's heart sank for a moment, realising that these things were probably always intended to be returned to. She wondered what had happened to the owner.

'You pack this up, I'll check upstairs,' Daryl instructed.

Beth crouched on tired legs and opened the backpack, reading the labels on the cans before slipping them into the bag. She was so intent on their new stash combined with sheer exhaustion that the walker caught her off guard. She heard it's moaning behind her, felt the air stir as it lunged at her and jumped to her feet, aiming at it's head with the can she was holding. It didn't go down, instead continued snapping and biting at her. Beth shoved her hand into the bones on it's chest to stall it and keep it at arms length as she turned around, in some sort of macabre dance, and pushed it against the wall. Again, she struggled to hit it with the can, her strike was still not hard enough. She cursed herself for feeling so feeble. She was not going to die today.

'It's legs! Kick it's legs out,' Daryl called, thundering down the stairs, crossbow raised.

Beth swept her leg out, connecting it with the walker's knee. It buckled and fell to the floor. Panting and irritated, she smashed the can down, this time delivering a blow that was fatal. She blew out a breath, and bent double trying to catch her breath.

'You okay?' he asked, stepping towards her. Gently, he caught her chin between a thumb and forefinger, rotating her face to check for bites or scratches. Beth was caught off guard by the touch, blue eyes widening in surprise that after spending so long yanking her around out of anger, Daryl had quite a tender touch. He noted the surprise etched on her face and, embarrassed, snatched his hand back like it was burnt and stepped back away from her to a more comfortable distance.

'I'm…fine,' she reassured him.

He cleared his throat, evidently awkward and presented her with a grey knitted object. 'I found this upstairs, I thought it might fit you.'

She took it from him and shook it out, revealing a warm, thickly knitted cardigan. Immediately, she put it on and pulled it around her, grinning. It was a little big and hung at the shoulders but it was warm and the fact that Daryl had even thought of her at all made her happy.

'Thank you,' she beamed, stepping forward and hugging him. He stood limply, his body completely tense as her arms wrapped around his torso. Slowly, he gave her elbow a gentle squeeze and moved away.

'You're welcome,' he replied, stiffly.

Happier now with the promise of some food and a warmer night thanks to her new cardigan, Beth felt lighter than she had in a while. They took a slow walk back to the woods in a comfortable silence. As they entered the trees, Daryl pointed out some bushes to her, telling her which ones were poisonous and which ones were safe to eat if their situation ever became that dire. He held up a hand to silence her as he stalked a squirrel, sailing an arrow into it and then plucking it up.

'Dinner,' he muttered. 'You can catch tomorrow's meal.'

'I don't know how to hunt.'

He shrugged. 'I'll teach you.'

They found a clearing and started their fire for the night. Beth gathered the dry leaves that had begun to fall from the trees as autumn crept in, and arranged them on the dirt floor, creating makeshift beds for the night. Daryl had found two blankets in the third house, and she spread one on top of the leaves, smoothing it out and stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Daryl eyed it as he roasted the squirrel. 'There's two of us,' he reminded her.

'We'll have to share.'

The decision had made him uncomfortable. 'You have it. Someone needs to keep watch.'

There was no point in arguing with him or telling him that she hadn't meant it in a suggestive way. It was colder at night and sharing body heat as well as blankets would make sense. She dug her knife into a can of peaches and prised off the lid, careful of the jagged edges, and handed it to him.

'Dinner is served,' Beth announced with a a playful flourish.

Squirrel and peaches was not a combination she had ever thought about eating but as the grease from the warm meat ran down her chin accompanied by the sweet tang of the fruit, she couldn't have asked for a better meal. She was sleepy from being so full and after wiping her hands on the front of her jeans and taking a swig of water, she went to lay down on the leaves, pulling the second blanket over her which felt scratchy and warm.

'Wake me up in a few hours to keep watch,' she told Daryl, her eyelids heavy. She thought she saw him nod and closed her eyes, drifting into a dreamless, happy sleep.

Beth woke hours later. The fire had gone out but was still smoking a thin white stream upwards. The sun was starting to rise, throwing the woods into a golden half light which was spectacular. She blinked, clearing her vision and was aware of a body next to her, warm and breathing a steady rhythm. She smiled down at Daryl's sleeping form. For once, he looked peaceful with his face devoid of the usual scowl that was always painted onto this face. He looked younger too. She fought the urge to smooth the wisp of brown hair that had fallen across his face and drew her hand back, wondering why on earth she would even want to do something that was so intimate. It was evident that he had left a gap between them as he settled down for the night, but in his sleep as he had relaxed, he had rolled closer to her, leaving only a few inches. She wondered if it was why she had slept so soundly; the warmth of him plus the comfort of another person next to her. Carefully, without wanting to disturb him, she snuck out of the blankets. It was cold with no fire and away from him and she shivered, drawing her cardigan around her.

'Damn,' she heard him mutter.

'Morning,' she suddenly felt shy.

'I didn't mean to fall right asleep. I just…meant to lay down and close my eyes. We're lucky we're still alive,' he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and he looked so innocent that for a moment, Beth considered how attractive he actually was and would have been before the turn. It had aged everyone quickly; no food, no sleep and the stress of trying to survive, but waking up, Daryl actually looked younger than she had first thought. Butterflies rippled across her stomach and she shoved them away. She recognized this feeling; she had the same sense in her stomach before when she had looked at Jimmy or Zack, both her ex boyfriends. It was not the sort of feeling that she should feel towards Daryl Dixon. I think you're a little too happy to have had a good nights sleep and some food, Beth Greene, she told herself.

She plastered a smile on her face and aimed it at Daryl. 'So, you gonna teach me how to hunt?'


	8. Chapter 8

'You gotta be more quiet,' Daryl instructed for what felt like the hundredth time. He felt his previous surliness creep into his voice and cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn't notice. He was just beginning to feel the bond of friendship with Beth and didn't want to spoil that by being standoffish. True, he lacked the patience to teach someone something. Hunting was second nature to him, just something he had always known and been able to do so he found it difficult to empathize with the fact that Beth was making mistakes.

Not wanting to go back to being churlish, he softened his approach. 'I think my crossbow is too big for you. Maybe we oughta stick with your knife.'

When she had first picked the crossbow up a couple of days ago, he had stifled a laugh as her skinny arms trembled from the weight of it. Stubborn, and determined, she wouldn't admit that it was too bulky for her and insisted on Daryl teaching her regardless. She looked as if she had adjusted to its bulk, but it was obvious that it was wrong for her. Plus, Daryl had still had to reload it. Beth's first attempt had been a disaster. She had needed to sit on the ground and push down on the bow with her feet as she pulled upwards with the string. Her hands had slipped off, flying up and smacking herself in the face. The noise of outrage she had uttered still caused Daryl some mirth when he thought about it.

'You're good with the knife,' he pressed.

She turned to him, her face shining at his compliment. 'Really?'

He nodded, muttering an 'mmhmm' of affirmation. She wasn't terrible with it, and since he had taught her a few fighting moves, she could hold her own against a couple of walkers. Besides, he felt naked without his crossbow; it was an extension of him.

'Can I finish tracking this?' she asked.

Daryl shrugged. It wouldn't hurt. He had given her an easy trail to follow; one that was obvious amongst the leaves, a zig zag line of footprints. In front of him, Beth raised the crossbow in front of her face. Her arms shook from the effort and Daryl found himself move closer to her, hesitantly hovering his hands up around her arms, wondering if he should hold them to keep her steady. Although Beth no longer made him feel as uncomfortable as she had done, he didn't want her to get the wrong idea that he was some dirty old hick who was trying any excuse to touch her. It had been a week since he had exposed his emotions to her and he remembered the feel of her small frame pressed against his back as the heaving sobs left his body. He had always associated crying with weakness and it was a habit he rarely got into, but after letting go and having someone there for him - someone who cared - felt freeing. All the anger, and bitterness, and guilt had left him that day. The weight of the prison falling had settled heavily on him, and then he'd been stuck with Beth. He regretted his earlier roughness with her, the way he had yanked her around by the wrist, the way he ignored the imploring in her eyes for him to stop being such a dick. It wasn't her fault, and she wasn't that bad as company. In fact, he rather liked being around her. Her enthusiasm for life wore thin at times, but she was slowly coaxing things out in him; purpose, appreciation for having made it this far, and most importantly a small glimmer of hope. The fact that he felt a bond between them spoke volumes. He felt an instinct to protect her now, to put her needs before and alongside his own, to consider her feelings before he opened his mouth.

'What are we tracking anyway?'

'You tell me,' he pointed to the footsteps. 'Look at the pattern they make, what does it tell you?'

'I know!' she exclaimed. 'It's a walker!'

'Could be a drunk,' he added with a soft chuckle.

Daryl noted Beth's mouth set into a determined line as she crept forward, crossbow still raised and pushed into a clearing in the trees. A small noise of triumph spilled from her lips as the walker came into view. He was knelt on the forest floor, crouched over the remains of a dead deer. Beth continued forward, cocking her head to look through the sight. Daryl drew back, allowing her to go forward by herself and make the kill. He knew she would feel satisfied about it if she felt like he hadn't been involved. His breath caught in his throat as all of sudden, Beth crumpled to the floor with a yelp. She had still managed to fire off an arrow as she fell, sinking it into the walkers shoulder. Daryl propelled forward, knife raised and plunged it into the back of the walker's head before it had a chance to turn around. He pulled it out with a pop, and sheathed it, hurrying over to Beth. She had caught the heel of her boot in a bear trap and her ankle had jarred into an unnatural twisted position. Quickly, supporting her ankle, Daryl fumbled with the trap, pulling it open and releasing her. Gingerly, he moved her foot back and forwards and inspected it.

'Can you move it?'

'I…yes,' she nodded.

He eyed her suspiciously, the pain evident in her face and again felt the full force of the guilt over the way he had previously treated her. It was obvious that it hurt her but she didn't want to be a burden and appear weak to him again.

'Come on then,' he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and helped her up. She walked with a limp but was steady enough on her feet that Daryl felt they could still cover some distance and find a place to spend the night. He didn't want to stop next to the dead deer, the stench erupting from it would be encouraging to walkers, and with Beth injured he could only take on so many by himself. He stood for a moment, taking in their surroundings before leading Beth right, a direction they hadn't been in yet. Once they broke free of the trees, he was sure they'd come across a building to spend the night in. They were well overdue for some good luck.

Beth dragged behind slightly as they crunched through the leaves. She looked at some points like she wanted to complain but thought better of it. Daryl was glad, he wasn't good with comforting words or promises that things would be okay and, as much as he now liked her, he couldn't stand listening to people moaning. It was something else that he lacked patience for. Soon, the trees grew sparse and Daryl could see the remainder of the day's fading light through them more often. They were reaching the edge of the woods and Daryl's senses became heightened, his hand over his crossbow, unsure of where they would come out. They emerged into a small cemetery. In the distance, a house loomed, standing proud on a small hill as if keeping watch over the graves. The tombstones were crumbling and overgrown with weeds, and Daryl felt a shiver run through him as he thought of walkers packed deep underneath the ground, trying to claw their way free. Beth was hesitating.

'You okay?'

'Can we stop for a moment? I just need to sit down,' she looked down at her ankle, an expression of pain decorating her pale face.

Daryl was anxious to reach the house before darkness fell. He wanted to make sure it was empty because if not, they would need to make another trek to find somewhere else to stay unless whoever was staying there wanted to share. He found that unlikely; people nowadays were willing to go to great lengths to protect what they owned and, although he wasn't afraid of a fight, he didn't particularly want to get into one, especially if he didn't know how many he was up against. He adjusted the crossbow across himself and bent down.

'Hop on,' he offered. Beth looked at him blankly. He waggled his hands in encouragement.

'You serious?' she asked slowly.

'Yeah, it's a serious piggyback,' he retorted. 'Now, get on.'

With a little jump she did, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his back. Daryl clamped hold her the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up comfortably. Her small frame was deceiving; she weighed a lot more than the looked like she would, and added to the weight of the crossbow and their bag of dwindling supplies, he regretted offering to carry her. He paced slowly through the tombstones, glancing at each one to read the inscription. As they neared a small, crumbling one poking from the grass, Beth slid from his back and stood to read it. Engraved into the stone was the birth and death dates, accompanied by the words 'Loving Father.' Daryl plucked a small bunch of yellow flowers - the only remaining colour in the cemetery - and placed them gently on top, falling back to stand silently beside Beth. He knew she was thinking of Herschel, and his thoughts wandered to the old man too. He had been a good man and Daryl had liked and respected him. Wordlessly, Beth snaked her hand into his. He tensed, feeling her soft skin against his calloused fingers, but found himself threading his fingers with hers and giving her hand a supportive squeeze. He noted the sun sinking lower, taking the temperature - which was already low - with it. He cleared his throat.

'We should keep movin' - I might need to take care of things at the house.'

'Maybe they're good people, Daryl,' Beth gently chided.

'The good ones don't survive,' he replied, offering another piggyback to her.

It was darkening as they arrived at the house. The windows had already been boarded up and Daryl was unsure it that worried or pleased him. He twisted the doorknob slowly and the door swung open.

'Wait,' he said, rapping loudly on the door frame. The noise echoed through the house. Nobody was inside; human or walker.

Inside, the house was pristine. Warning bells signaled in Daryl's head, but he pushed them aside. After checking each room, he was finally satisfied that the place was empty. He doubted that it had been for long and uncertainty rose, wondering if whoever owned this place would be back soon and how they would react to finding two scruffy strangers in their home. When they had been sleeping out in the woods, Daryl had made a makeshift fence out of string and the old cans which they had saved after they were empty. He strung it up now, stretching it across the front porch and gave it a gentle shake. The noise was loud enough that they would hear it inside the house if they had unexpected visitors.

'I told you there were good people,' he heard Beth say as he came back inside. He clicked the lock on the door and gave the wooden boards that were already there a tug. The house was locked up tight and he felt safe enough to remove his hand from the strap on his crossbow.

'Huh?'

He found her next to an open coffin. It suddenly dawned on him that this place was a funeral home. It was lucky he didn't spook easily, if at all, and if Beth felt uncomfortable then it didn't show. The walker in the coffin was completely dead, it's face an unnatural and waxy texture. Daryl prodded his finger into it's cheek and peeled back a greasy layer of gunk. Whoever had been living here had been putting make up on them and dressing them for a funeral. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'Gross.'

'It's beautiful,' Beth replied, a sharp edge to her tone. He realised he had offended her. 'I told you they were good people. Someone remembers that these were people too. They deserve a funeral like everyone else, and I think that's beautiful. Don't you?'

Daryl didn't trust himself to reply. 'We should look at your ankle,' he changed the subject swiftly. He found a first aid kit in a small room which held trolleys and two more dead and funeral ready walkers. It was an eerie sight. The patches were their skin had decayed and sunken in was still visible through the waxy make up and made them look more horrifying than they already did. He was somewhat envious of Beth's ability to see through the absurdity of it and find the good in it. He had always automatically seen the worst in things. Still, he had never known anything different, never had anyone positive to learn from. Shaking away the depressing thoughts, he unraveled a bandage and helped Beth hop up onto the counter.


	9. Chapter 9

Beth woke to annoying shaft of sunlight penetrating through one of the boards that were tacked to the window. She rubbed her eyes, trying to bat it away and return to her much needed sleep. Then she realised there was a ceiling above her head instead of a canopy of trees and sat bolt upright, confused as her brain tried to connect the dots. For a few disorientating moments she wondered if she had dreamed the entire thing, that she was in her bedroom at the farm and she could bound downstairs and kiss her fathers cheek, breathing in the scent of the outdoors that always clung to him. She blinked, taking in the room and slowly remembering where she was. She had taken a bedroom in the funeral home, the big double bed looked too inviting to leave empty all night, so she had crawled into it and pulled the soft blankets over her. They smelled slightly musty, like the rest of the room but it was bright and inviting, and if it were not for the wooden boards at the window, it would have seemed like a normal house. She allowed herself a luxurious stretch, relishing the most comfort she had been in since her cot at the prison and slowly slid out of bed. Her ankle throbbed and she gingerly put weight on it, a little at a time. Limping, and using the wall for support, she made her way downstairs.

Yesterday, after Daryl had tended to her ankle, they had explored the other rooms in the house. They had found a stash of food lined in the cupboards, everything from jams to soda. The food containers were spotless, without even a speck of dust and she had mentioned to Daryl that it probably meant the house hadn't been unattended for long. He had become tense after that, holding the strap of his crossbow and throwing worried glances towards the front door all night. But they hadn't been disturbed. Beth had learned to wake up at the slightest noise, and she had slept peacefully through the entire night. They had taken some of the food, just enough to fill themselves up and not wanting to appear greedy if the owner returned. A meal of pigs feet, peanut butter and soda had been consumed silently and hungrily.

Daryl appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He looked relaxed, an expression of his that Beth would need to get used to.

'How the ankle?' he asked.

She pulled a face as she shifted her weight from it and attempted the next stair.

'Hurry,' he urged, a smile on his face.

'I can't go any faster,' she whined.

Without warning, he came towards her. Beth shrank back wondering whether he was going to yank her along again. He had left a bruise circling her wrist from the times before that was just beginning to fade. Her mouth fell open in a noise of surprise as he scooped her up, bridal style, and carried her to the kitchen. She giggled as he made exaggerated noises about carrying her. He set her down at the small table in the kitchen which he had set up with breakfast, which was really just a repeat of the meal they'd enjoyed last night. He sat opposite her and the dug in, scoffing the food in a companionable silence.

'You're in a good mood,' Beth grinned slyly.

Daryl uncapped the jar of jam and stuck his tongue into it, scooping it out and directly into his mouth.

'Gross,' Beth sniffed, wrinkling her nose.

'I found a car out back. Figured we could use it if we needed to get out fast or make runs into town.'

'I think we should find some of our own supplies. I'll write a thank you note for what we took and leave it in case we don't get back.'

'Maybe you don't need to write it,' Daryl suggested. 'We could stay here. We could make it work with whoever lives here. It's safe and secluded, it's boarded up tight. We've lived with a group before.'

The smile on Beth's face began slowly, a tug at the corner of her lips but as Daryl continued his speech, it widened into a beam across her cheeks. She knew it! He did believe there was some good left in the world otherwise he wouldn't be planning to play house with strangers. He was willing to make things work with other people. It was a world away from the wounded, angry animal who she had escaped the prison with.

'So you do still think there are good people,' there was a hint of 'I told you so' in her voice that she couldn't help. 'What changed your mind?'

Daryl shrugged, avoiding her gaze and shoveling peanut butter into his mouth from his fingers. He licked them clean noisily before he answered. 'You know,' he said vaguely.

'I don't or I wouldn't be asking! What?'

He looked down at the jar in his hands and then back to her, observing her through a gap in his hair which had fallen across his face. He mumbled a noise at her.

'Don't just,' she imitated the noise he had made. 'What made you change your mind?'

He paused, his fingers still sunken into the soft peanut butter and looked at her again. His gaze lingered. Harder this time. More directly. He seemed to be telling her the answer with his eyes, and with a flush, Beth realized he was indicating to right in front of him. To her.

Without breaking eye contact, Beth's mouth fell open and all she could manage to say was 'Oh.'

She didn't know how to interpret what he had just said, or not said. She blinked, and it was Daryl's cue to draw back into himself and continue his meal. Her mind whirled with all the different ways he could mean his admission. He hadn't directly said it was her, but the look in his eyes spoke louder than any words could. She tried not to read too much into it. She knew herself that they had formed a friendship and that since Daryl's emotional barriers had broken down, they knew each other more intimately. Though, since that time when she considered his attractiveness as he was waking up, she had never thought of Daryl in a way that was any more than just platonic. Despite her age, she felt she was more mature mentally than most people her age but she lacked any real knowledge in relationships and signs that someone may or may not have feelings for her. Especially someone like Daryl Dixon, who was much older than her and wiser in terms of survival, someone who up until recently had seemed to hate her.

The pair of them froze as the cans on the front porch clattered. Any leftover awkwardness dispersed as Daryl quickly put down his jar and snatched up his crossbow.

'Stay here,' he ordered.

Beth's nerves were on edge, jangling loudly in her ears. Despite Daryl's instructions, she couldn't sit still.

'It's just a dog,' she heard him call from the hallway.

The heavy feeling in her stomach lifted. A dog! She hadn't seen one of those in months. Hobbling towards the hallway she found Daryl standing and closing the door. He frowned when he saw her.

'I told you to stay put,' he scowled, but his tone held no real anger.

'Wouldn't he come in?'

'Maybe he'll come back,' Daryl shrugged, gently leading her by the arm back into the kitchen.

They spent the remainder of the day making sure the house was secure and Daryl worked a little on the car outside, making sure it was working properly and checking the gas. Beth was happy enough to stay at the house today; it gave her more time to rest her ankle, but she knew that soon they would need to venture into a town soon for supplies. As the light dwindled and dusk crept in, Beth made her way into a room she had discovered yesterday. It housed a piano, some chairs and an empty padded coffin. Beth assumed this was where funeral services had once been held. She lifted the lid on the piano, skimming her slender fingers across the ivory keys. She had missed playing music and singing. She hadn't felt light enough to sing recently but now, safe in this house and with a stomach full of food, she thought she might be able to. She positioned herself on the stool in front of the piano and softly pressed a key. The instrument was still in tune and this pleased her. Candles were dotted around the room. Slipping a box of matches from her pocket, Beth lit them all bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. She returned to the piano, flexed her fingers over the keys and began to play. It was a simple tune, one she knew from music she had listened to at the farm. She sang as she played, raising her voice as loud as she dared. The song she was singing was about a platonic friendship with a underlying feelings, and how the friends didn't want to complicate things by adding feelings into the mix. Beth wondered if she had chosen this song subconsciously because it could relate to her and Daryl, or if she just missed it from before. Did she really have feelings for him? She was baffled over her thoughts. Yes, he was attractive and she had grown close to him. He made her feel safe and protected and no longer gave off the vibe that he thought she was a nuisance. But he was also surly, and mercurial, and a lot older than her. Not that that mattered to her; it was a different world now and things that she may not have had in common with him when things were normal had changed. Beth wondered how the group would react - if they ever saw them again - and she was romantically involved with Daryl. They all trusted and respected him and had seen him as a leader alongside Rick, but would they be okay with him being with Beth? She decided it was none of their business anyway and besides, it was just the two of them for now anyway.

The sound of Daryl clearing his throat from the doorway startled her.

'I've locked the place up for the night,' he informed her. She nodded thinking he would disappear back to doing whatever it was he did during his time alone, but he hung around in the room awkwardly. Spotting the coffin, he hoisted himself into it and settled back. Beth gave him a frown.

'Really?' she said, a laugh in her voice.

'It's comfortable,' he shrugged, adjusting the pillow underneath his head. He laid back and fixed her with a long look. 'Why don't you play some more? Keep singin'?'

She was puzzled. He had always been the first to leave the room before when she had sung and the way he had mocked her for it back at the moonshine shack still stuck with her. And now he was asking her to sing?

'I thought my singing annoyed you,' it wasn't a question. More of a statement.

'You see any other alternatives?'

With a smile, she turned back to the keys and continued from where she left off. Her voice started out quietly, feeling shy of performing for Daryl and then as he relaxed and she knew he wasn't going to mock her, it grew stronger. She lost herself in the music, forgetting Daryl was even in the room with her as she poured every emotion into singing the words. When she had finished, she felt exhausted.

'I'm gonna go to bed,' she said.

Daryl, half asleep, nodded at her. 'We'll find a town tomorrow, get some supplies.'

Beth made a noise of agreement and headed towards the stairs. For a moment, she lingered at the door, trying to find some words but she didn't know what they were or what she wanted to say. She floundered for a moment, opening and closing her mouth before settling on 'G'night then' and slunk up the stairs.

**A/N: I just want to say thank you for the faves, reviews and follows :) This is my first time writing fanfiction, and it was only intended to be something to write for NaNoWriMo, because I hadn't finished character development on what I actually wanted to write. So, this was merely a writing exercise that no one was meant to see! That being said, I'm glad other people seem to enjoy it and I will be deviating from the TV show plot from now on xo**


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